


You don't suffer (But take the pain)

by dezemberzarin



Series: I Lived Verse [7]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Self-Destruction, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezemberzarin/pseuds/dezemberzarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco flinched. “Don’t,” he said in a low voice. </p>
<p>Mats couldn’t have missed the warning, but he ignored it. “It’s been two weeks. You need to find a way to deal with him being gone, otherwise-“ </p>
<p>“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” Marco snapped, clenching his hands into fists where they rested in his lap. “This <em>is</em> me dealing with it. And you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, so back the hell off.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You don't suffer (But take the pain)

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back! I wondered whether to wait until Friday to post this, but then my editing was done and we got no Götzeus last night (smh), so here you go. Also I thought maybe the Bayern fans need a pick-me-up, I certainly did. I think we're cracking 100,000 words with this part which is just. What. This started out as a maybe 30,000 word thing in my head, what happened. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for the feedback on the last part! It's doubtful that I'll ever stop being a huge failure and actually reply to the comments in a timely manner instead of doing it right before posting, but I promise I'll try! You honestly blew me away, the response to this story has always been beyond my wildest expectations, but the feedback on the last part was out of this world, you guys are incredible and kind and wonderful, so thank you! <3 
> 
> I am probably more nervous about this part than all of the others put together (at least until I'll have to post the final part), that's probably why I've been dragging my feet on the editing so far. I know I said this would be Marco POV, but it is _incredibly_ centered around Marco, even more so than usual, fair warning. 
> 
> Finally, this is important: HEED THE WARNINGS in the tags for this part. Otherwise, enjoy!

Marco ran. His breath was coming in harsh, barely controlled bursts, chest aching with every intake and his thighs were screaming in protest as he pushed his body to its limit, his footfalls the only sound in the cool morning air. He ran without minding where he was headed, ran as fast as he could without paying attention to his surroundings. There was nothing on his mind, nothing but the ache of his limbs and the throbbing rush of blood in his ears. He’d have to stop soon, his legs would simply give out on him if he didn’t, but that was alright. Judging by experience, he still had a good five minutes of blissful nothingness left. 

It turned out to be less than that, but Marco didn’t overly mind, not when the beat of his own heart was drowning out everything else as he sank into the grass, rolling onto his back and struggling for breath, gasping like a fish on dry land. As always, there was a fraction of a second when his heart struggled to deliver the next beat, breath gone from his lungs and dark spots dancing before his eyes, marring the steely blue of the early morning sky. Then, the familiar rush of panic and fear, followed closely by something else entirely. Exhilaration. _Please_ , Marco thought, closing his eyes. 

The moment passed. It always did. The sweet, grass-damp air rushed back into him as his lungs finally expanded and his heart continued to beat, hard and angry in his chest. Marco stayed where he was, morning dew soaking the back of his shirt as he watched color seep back into the world around him, his vision clearing slowly as his body recovered from the ordeal he’d put it through. Once he could breathe without his chest screaming in pain, Marco sat up and surveyed his surroundings, adrenaline slowly fading from his system. 

He was near the lake he’d ended up at a couple of times before; its shore was barely visible through the outline of the trees. Which meant he’d run more than fifteen kilometers. He’d googled the distance once, after the second time his run had brought him here. Marco barely remembered the runs afterwards, so he’d been vaguely surprised, but not shocked. He’d always been a fair distance runner, even at school. 

He slowly made his way towards the lake, drawn in by its sparkling surface and the promise of water. Marco never took water on his runs. Crouching at the shore, Marco used his cupped hands to splash the water in his face, enjoying the way it clung to his overheated skin afterwards. There was a simplicity to it that appealed to him and he repeated the motion a couple of times, watching the ripples his hands caused on the dark surface. He wondered how deep this lake was. How long it would take to sink to the bottom, if you didn’t fight the pull of the water. 

A bark jerked him out of his contemplations and he glanced up to see a couple of joggers approach, a golden retriever charging ahead of them as they headed towards one of the benches on the lake’s shore. The couple looked blissfully unaware of him, talking and laughing as they slowed their pace, preparing for a break in their workout. The guy reached out to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen into his companion’s face and she smiled at him, put a hand on his chest as she leaned in.   
Marco got up and turned away, ignoring his protesting thighs as he picked his way along the tree line, back towards the path he’d abandoned. The sun was rising rapidly and he still had a hell of a return journey ahead of him. 

*

It was almost noon when Marco unlocked the door to his flat and he breathed a sigh of relief once he was able to sink down onto the couch, giving his tired legs a respite. He’d only walked on the way back, but he had a feeling his body wouldn’t let him forget this one for a while. Instead of unsettling, Marco found the thought reassuring in its simplicity. He couldn’t continue like this, he knew. But pressing close to that edge was the only thing getting him out of bed in the mornings, so he would just have to see how much longer he could play this game with himself. God knew that once training started again, he would have to find something else to distract himself.

His phone was lying on the couch table, innocuous and tempting at the same time. Marco glared at it for more than a minute, imagining how he would simply get up and go shower, forgetting all about it being there. Marco suspected the day he managed that, he wouldn’t need the runs anymore. His heart picked up a beat as he grabbed it off the table and his fingers were clumsy as he unlocked it, glanced at the screen with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Two missed calls, one from Yvy and one from his mother. No other calls or messages. 

Marco tossed the phone away, hating himself for the sting of disappointment he felt, like any of this should still come as a surprise. He yanked his clothes off on his way to the shower, leaving them where they fell and almost ripping the neckline of his sweat-soaked shirt when it wouldn’t come off fast enough. The shower had barely started up when he stepped into the cubicle and he ignored its icy blast against his chest as the water slowly warmed, then turned hot. Marco lowered himself to the shower floor gingerly, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them as the water beat down onto his bent head and back, a wet curtain separating him from the world outside. In here there was only the watery thrum surrounding him, drowning out everything else as he thought of nothing, nothing at all. 

*

He was running again when it happened. He’d hit his exhaustion point earlier and just kept going, not ready to give up the steady thrum of pain and adrenaline coursing through his body. It was something he hadn’t done before, so when his legs actually gave out under him, Marco wasn’t prepared for it. He went down hard, scraping his knees and shins, the palms of his hands as he caught himself from crashing face-first into the dirt. The rush of exhilaration and adrenaline was the same as always, maybe even stronger. Marco rode it out for as long as could, keeping his eyes wide open to see black flowers bloom across his vision. 

But when he tried to get up afterwards, his body wouldn’t let him, thighs shaking so badly that he fell back against the ground with a hard thump, bruising his tailbone in the process. Marco waited for another ten minutes, willing the shaking in his legs to subside, but he still only managed a couple of uneasy steps before he had to sit back down, the realization that he wouldn’t be able to make it back home by himself sinking into him like a knife. It took him another five minutes before he’d talked himself into pulling out his phone, scrolling down his contacts and hitting call with fingers that seemed to move a fraction too slow, smearing the screen with sweat. 

There were only a couple of rings until the call got picked up. Marco swallowed against the iron taste in his throat, trying to clear it. “It’s me. Can you do me a favor?” 

*

Mats’ jeep pulled up half an hour later, his friend cranking down the window as he peered through the soft drizzle that had started up a couple of minutes before. “Marco? Is that you?” 

Marco got up from the tree he’d sought shelter under, making his way over to Mats’ car slowly, the rain dampening his shirt even further. The passenger door was already propped open when he got there, Mats leaning over the gear shift with a worried expression. Marco climbed into the car as smoothly as he could manage, too aware of Mats’ eyes on him, registering every wince and hesitant movement. For a moment they just sat there, the jeep idling along beneath them and Marco briefly hoped that this could be it. 

“What the _hell_ happened to you?” Mats voice was tight, like he was barely keeping from yelling. 

Marco suppressed a sigh. He was tired and really just wanted to go home. “I was running. Must have overdone it a little.” 

“Out here?” Mats sounded incredulous. “In the midde of the woods? Where’s your car?” 

Marco blinked at him. “At home.” 

Mats stared. His mouth opened and he started to say something, then shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “You…Marco, we’re like twenty kilometers from your flat. Are you telling me you ran all the way here?” 

“I guess,” Marco shrugged, the movement pulling at the aching muscles in his back and shoulders. He pressed back into the seat, trying to will the spasms to stop. 

“You guess,” Mats repeated. “Are you telling me you don’t remember?” 

“I don’t pay much attention when I run. Things get hazy sometimes.” 

“You’ve done this more than once?”

“Sure,” Marco said, bewildered. “I run every day.”

“Every day,” Mats said softy, almost like he was speaking to himself instead of Marco. “Has this happened before? That you couldn’t make it back on your own?”

“No.”

“But you came close,” Mats said sharply.

Marco only shrugged, unwilling to look at him. He stared at the raindrops on the windshield instead, their paths easily traceable by the tracks they’d left. People didn’t leave tracks like that once they were gone. The only proof they’d ever been anywhere was in the memories of the ones they left behind. 

Mats voice brought him out of his reverie and Marco blinked. “Sorry, what?” 

“I said I’m taking you to your parents.” 

Marco tried to conceal the panic that surged through him at those words, but the look on Mats’ face told him he hadn’t quite managed. Telling himself to stay calm, Marco took a deep breath. “You don’t have to do that. I’m alright, really. Just drop me off at my flat.” 

The dying of the engine took him by surprise and when he glanced over, he found Mats already turned to face him, his mouth pinched in a tight line. “You are _not_ alright, Marco,” his friend said and Marco was taken aback by the fury in his voice. “Jesus fucking Christ, you look like a corpse, how much weight have you lost?”

“Wha- I don’t-“ 

“Stop with the bullshit, how stupid do you think I am? No one has heard from you since the break started, you don’t even react to any of our messages and calls and now you’ve run yourself to exhaustion in the middle of nowhere. And you don’t even seem to think there’s anything wrong with that! So don’t you dare tell me you’re alright!” Mats voice had risen in volume until he was nearly shouting by the end of his rant. 

Marco’s skin felt too tight on him, the flaring anxiety making him sweat despite the cool air from the AC. “Could you just drop me off at my flat? Please?” 

“No,” Mats said flatly. “Unless you can give me a damn good explanation for all of this in the next thirty seconds, I’m not taking you anywhere but your parents, or even better, a fucking hospital. I know you miss him, but this isn’t normal, Marco.” 

Marco flinched. “Don’t,” he said in a low voice. 

Mats couldn’t have missed the warning, but he ignored it. “It’s been two weeks. You need to find a way to deal with him being gone, otherwise-“ 

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” Marco snapped, clenching his hands into fists where they rested in his lap. “This _is_ me dealing with it. And you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, so back the hell off.” 

“Oh, so now you’re the only one who misses Mario? You’re the only one upset about him leaving? I’ve got news for you, Marco, you might be his best friend, but he was _our_ friend, too and we _all_ miss him. Me, Nuri, Ilkay, even Kevin for God’s sake! You don’t have to do this on your own. If you had bothered to talk to us at any point, you might have realized that.” 

Marco shook his head, trying desperately to stay calm, to just keep breathing. “It’s not the same.”

“How?” Mats demanded. “How is this so different exactly that we wouldn’t be able to-“ 

“I was in love with him.” Marco thought it should have felt monumental to admit this to someone after all this time, but all felt was tired, a weariness that went bone-deep. There was no relief in the words now, not when they were weighed down with hopelessness more than ever. 

Mats didn’t speak for a long time and when he did, his voice had gone very, very quiet. Marco didn’t even have to look at him to know the pitying expression on his friend’s face. “Jesus. I didn’t- I mean, I knew there was something going on between you two, but from what he said I just assumed…”

“Yeah,” Marco muttered, digging his fingernails into his palms until the pain allowed him to breathe again. 

“Did he know?” Mats asked softly. 

Marco shook his head mutely, unable to speak with the lump in his throat. Next to him, Mats sighed. “Fuck, Marco. I’m so sorry.” 

Marco swallowed hard, his eyes feeling too warm all of a sudden. “Could you just take me home?”

Mats hesitated and for a long, horrible moment Marco thought he was going to refuse. Then his friend nodded reluctantly and started up the engine again. The drive back was silent and Marco was thankful for that at least, knowing he wouldn’t have been able to hold a conversation even if he wanted to. When Mats pulled up in front of his building, Marco had his hand on the door handle before the car had come to a full stop, only pausing when Mats put a hand on his arm. 

“Promise me you’ll go see your parents tomorrow? Or I can come by and we can hang out.”

Even armed with the knowledge that Mats was trying to look out for him, Marco felt his hackles rise. “I don’t need a chaperone.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Mats said, holding up his hands when Marco gave him an incredulous look. “Though considering today, I wouldn’t be entirely without cause. Look, your family is probably worried about you. Go see them, enjoy the rest of the break. It’ll take your mind off things for a while.” 

Marco seriously doubted that, but he nodded anyway, sliding out of the car. The muscles in his legs screamed in protest, but he ignored it as he turned, hesitating for a beat before leaning down to look at Mats through the car window. “Thanks,” he said quietly, hoping that his tone managed to convey what he couldn’t with words. 

Mats smiled at him, a touch of sadness flickering across his face. “Anytime.” 

*

Marco honestly hadn’t planned to follow Mats’ advice, though he’d fully intended to lie to him if he asked. But the morning after his disastrous run, he’d actually felt a touch of guilt as he’d remembered the worried look on Mats’ face. Before he’d been quite sure what he was doing, he’d called his mother and told her he was coming over for supper and her overjoyed reaction had invoked more than just a touch of guilt in him. 

Now, chasing around his parents’ backyard with Niko and Yvy, alternatively pretending to be a bear or tiger as his nephew demanded, Marco was glad he’d come. His parents and sisters had welcomed him with open arms, voicing no recriminations for his lack of communication in the last couple of weeks, though Marco thought he’d seen Mel give Yvy a pointed look earlier. 

They’d had lunch and later on tea, his mother’s apple-pie the most delicious thing Marco had tasted in ages. When his mother had asked him a bit hesitantly whether he wanted to stay overnight, Marco had found himself agreeing, to his own surprise. The prospect of returning to his flat, that had been his sanctuary, hadn’t appeared all that appealing in the face of the warmth his parents’ home seemed to radiate. 

The sun was already setting when Mel approached them, grabbing a laughing Niko right out of Marco’s arms and pretending to throw her nephew into the small pond they’d been circling around. Niko squealed in delight, nearly diving headfirst into the water once Mel let him go, something Yvy only barely managed to keep from happening by grabbing the back of his shirt. The subsequent tantrum was loud and energetic and ended with Yvy carrying her son off towards the house for an early dinner, leaving Mel and Marco to sit down on the flat stones surrounding the pond. 

“Remember when Dad had to read us our bedtime story because Mom had to work nights?” Mel sounded wistful and Marco snorted. 

“I remember you yelling at him for doing the voices wrong.” 

“I did not.” 

“Did too.” 

“Nuh huh.” 

“Yah huh.” 

They grinned at each other and Mel nudged him softly with her shoulder. “We missed you.” 

Marco had to look away, pretended it was the low-setting sun that was making him blink. “I know.” 

She regarded him carefully from the side, a hesitant look on her face. “How are you doing?”

It sounded like a perfectly innocent question, but Marco knew what she was really asking. He paused, considering it. “I’m okay,” he said finally, telling himself it wasn’t really a lie. He was doing better today.

Mel used her toes to nudge a pebble into the pond, watched it disappear with a soft plopping sound. “How is Mario?” 

Marco bit his lip and wondered whether there was any way to skirt around an answer, then sighed. Mel would see through such an attempt right away. “I don’t know,” he admitted. 

“You don’t know?” Mel echoed disbelievingly. 

“I haven’t heard from him in over a week.” It hurt to say that out loud and Marco was keenly aware of Mel’s eyes on him, his sister seeing so much more than he wanted her to. 

It had been nine days since he’d last heard from Mario, a short text message about the start of his PT. Marco had written back something equally generic, though at the time he’d agonized over the content extensively. Everything had become so loaded between the two of them in those last few weeks spent together, though Marco had done his best to ignore it then. He’d tried so hard to heed the advice Ann-Kathrin had given him, had done everything a best friend should to make things easier for Mario. 

Nothing had been worse than having to watch his best friend suffer as the media and fan reaction to his transfer took its toll. Marco had tried to be there for him, but still wasn’t sure how good of a job he’d done, his own feelings on the matter so obviously not what Mario needed to hear. Marco had felt helpless witnessing the cracks deepen in Mario’s calm, resigned demeanor over time, the constant barrage of hate eating away at the easy joy Mario had always brought to the game and team. Near the end, Marco had caught himself wishing for it to be over already, for Mario to be tucked away safely in Munich with a new legion of fans to fawn over him and to give him his smile back.   
_Be careful what you wish for._

“He’s probably just busy settling in,” Mel said carefully, like she expected Marco to snap at her for the remark. “New club, new city and all that.” 

“Sure,” Marco agreed, thinking of the thousands of text messages Mario had sent him over the course of their friendship, the tiniest observation warranting a picture with added commentary, even if it was just a particularly well-prepared latté. No amount of work had ever kept him from spamming Marco with almost hourly updates, even when they had both still lived in Dortmund. 

They sat quietly for the next few minutes, watching the sun disappear between the trees and painting the sky a deep pink. Marco was about to suggest they head inside for dinner when Mel touched his knee, waited for him to look at her. “Can I say something? Something that you might not like to hear?” 

“Would it stop you, if I said no?” Marco asked, honestly curious and she grinned, a bit ruefully. 

“Probably not.” She sighed, rubbing the palms of her hands against her shorts. “Look. I know you love him. And I know you think you won’t ever be happy again with him being gone, but it might not be such a bad thing for you. Hear me out,” she added quickly when Marco opened his mouth. “You’ve been all about Mario for such a long time now and I’m not saying that’s bad necessarily. But when you came back to Dortmund, the two of you became so wrapped up in each other there wasn’t really room for anyone else.” 

“If you’re talking about Caro-“ 

Mel shook her head impatiently. “I don’t mean Caro. What about Robin? You guys used to hang out all the time when you played for Gladbach.” 

Marco paused. He hadn’t thought about Robin in a while now and the realization surprised him, made him wonder just how much truth there was to Mel’s words. He’d fallen out of touch with a lot from the Gladbach guys in lieu of his transfer to BVB, but Robin was one of his few school friends and he still lived in Dortmund. There wasn’t really a proper reason for Marco not to have seen him for as long as he had. The thoughts must have shown on his face, because Mel sighed a little, leaning against him until Marco put his arm around her. 

“I’m not saying you have to get over him today. But you had a life before him, you know? Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to remember that sometimes.” 

*

Marco was on his way to the kitchen the next morning, when his parents’ voices stopped him in his tracks just before the doorway. He gave the hallway clock a weary glance, wondering what they were doing up so early. Marco himself hadn’t been able to settle down, uneasy dreams he wasn’t able to recall upon waking up jerking him out of sleep every couple of hours. Uncertain of just why he was doing it, Marco stepped closer to the kitchen door, angling his body sideways to keep out of sight. 

“I don’t know what to do,” his mom said and Marco frowned, hearing how upset she was even without being able to see her face. What was going on? 

“It’s going to be fine,” his dad replied. “He’s here now. He came to us. It was good that we waited, he had to sort this out by himself.” 

“Thomas, have you _seen_ him? He must have lost ten pounds and he didn’t have much to lose in the first place!” His mother sounded like she was about to cry and Marco stood frozen, thoroughly regretting his decision to eavesdrop. He’d known his parents had been worried about him, but _hearing_ it like this, his mother close to tears was worse than anything he’d imagined. 

“Sweetheart, he’ll be fine. He’s here now and we can keep an eye on him. Training is going to start in a few days, there will be plenty of people there to keep him busy.” 

“What if he won’t stay? We can’t forbid him to go back to his flat, but I hate to think of him all alone there-“ His mom broke off with a sob and Marco took a step back, stomach burning with guilt and a childish urge to run away and hide somewhere. His mother wasn’t supposed to cry. Certainly not because of him. He retreated as silently as he knew how, trying to tune out the comforting mutter of his dad’s voice. He felt like he’d intruded on a moment of privacy between them that they wouldn’t have wanted any of their children, let alone him to witness. 

*

What Mel’s well-meant words hadn’t managed to achieve, his mother’s tears did. Up in his parent’s guest room, sitting on the bed that had been his refuge in the days after Mario had first told him, Marco sat staring at his phone, scrolling through the folder simply titled ‘S’. There were thousands of pictures of Mario in there, spanning back almost a year. Mario in Berlin, looking nauseous on top of the TV tower. Mario on their flight to Malaga, asleep and curled up in a way that suggested he’d somehow managed to detach his head from his spine. Mario at the Christmas Market, cheeks flushed and laughing at something off-camera. Mario, Mario, Mario, a thousand times and more. 

Marco swallowed hard as he pressed a couple of keys, hesitating when the question popped up on the screen. 

_Delete all selected items?_

Marco thought of Mats, his worried face as he peered at Marco through his car window. He thought of Mel and the careful way she’d talked to him, so unlike her usual force-of-nature temperament. But mostly he thought of his mother and the way her voice had sounded when it broke on the word ‘alone’. 

He hit delete.

*

The first day back at Brackel was a Monday, the sky a brilliant summer blue that promised a hot week ahead of them. Marco, who had spent the last few days mostly lazing about in his parents’ backyard hammock and eating his mother’s food, tried in vain to muster up much enthusiasm for the day in ahead of him as he pulled into a free parking spot. He’d been well distracted by his family all week, but the training grounds were bound to scrounge up all kind of memories he’d rather have left untouched. 

Marco was just about to get out of his car when a flashy Lamborghini pulled into the spot beside him with astounding speed, causing Marco to hastily slam the door to his Aston in order to save the side mirror. Only he didn’t quite manage to pull back his foot in time and so the door bounced on the limb, painfully squashing his toes in the process. Either Marco’s pained yelped carried, or the driver of the Lamborghini realized that his parking skills had some hazardous side effects, because moments later a tall, black guy popped up beside Marco’s car, looking sheepish and a little frantic as he pulled the door open. 

“Dude, are you okay? Fuck, I didn’t even see you there and I thought I was late, my son gave me this picture to take with me on my first day and I realized I left it at home and went back, only then there was this weird construction sight right on the main road and when I went around I ended up on the Autobahn and I only figured out how to turn back three exits later…” Rather than finishing his story, the guy appeared to have simply run out of air and Marco stuck out his hand before he could recover, not quite sure he could handle another dump of information just then. 

“You need to follow the signs, there are smaller roads you can take. Marco.” 

The guy took his hand and shook it with a bright grin. “Pierre. You guys have the weirdest street signs though. My German isn’t that great yet. What does Umleitung mean?” 

Marco stared at him for a couple of seconds and then started to laugh, couldn’t help it. Pierre joined in, though he looked a bit bewildered as he did so, which only made Marco laugh harder. Marco had never been one to quickly latch on to people (with one very notable exception), but right then and there, sitting in the Brackel parking lot, his toes still hurting like hell and gasping for air with laughter, he decided Pierre and he were probably going to be friends. 

*

Having Pierre with him had the nice side-effect of keeping Marco busy as he showed his new teammate around the training grounds and made introductions. Pierre – or Auba as he’d been quickly dubbed by Nuri – made Marco laugh so many times during training that Kloppo made them run laps afterwards, which only resulted in a game of tag that Marco lost, to his complete astonishment. He actually couldn’t remember the last time any of his teammates had managed to outdistance him, but Auba was insanely fast, taking off like a jet plane, even with a ball at his foot. 

The locker room was loud and raucous at the end of the day, everyone glad to be back and with a new season to look forward to. Marco kept to himself, avoiding to look over where Lewy and Kevin were changing, the locker between theirs taken up by their new number ten, the Armenian guy that due to his unpronounceable name was already being called Micky. Seeing that 10 on someone else’s back had given Marco pause, his stomach turning with the painful revelation that this was the way things were now, no going back. 

He knew Mats was watching him, had been all day in fact and so when Mo suggested taking a picture with Auba, Marco quickly agreed and did his best to match their easy grins. He was done giving Mats reasons to fret over him. His friend had called almost daily in the week following Marco’s last run and he’d been more than relieved when Marco had told him that he was staying with his parents for the time being. Even knowing that Mats was only worried about him, Marco had had to work hard to mask his irritation. 

Auba was waiting for him at the exit and Marco almost paused when he saw him there, the sharp hollow feeling at the reminder that there used to be someone else who had done the same thing for him slowing his step. He caught himself just in time and nodded at Auba, the two of them making their way to the parking lot together. 

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, bro,” Auba said as they stepped out into the sunny afternoon. “You know anyone who could take a look at my Lambo? There’s this rattling noise I can’t place and judging by your ride, you ought to have a mechanic who knows something about sports cars.” 

Marco took out his keys as he considered it and was about to deny, when something occurred to him. “I do, actually. I have a friend whose brother is a mechanic. He helped me pick out my Aston.” 

“He any good?” Auba asked, leaning against the side of his Lamborghini and looking at Marco inquiringly. 

Marco shrugged. “I never had any trouble with my cars and he’s been doing the inspections for years.” 

“Sweet,” Auba said. “Can you give me his number?” 

“Sure,” Marco said, wondering for a crazy moment whether Mel had anything to do with this. He paused, biting his lip. “You know what, let me call him for you. Get you an appointment faster.” 

“That’d be awesome, bro!” Auba exclaimed. “Thanks! I knew I picked the right guy to park next to.” 

“To maim, you mean,” Marco grumbled, doing an exaggerated limp as he rounded his Aston and opened the door.

He could still hear Auba laughing as he pulled out onto the street and to his surprise Marco found he was grinning as well. 

*

Six days later Marco was walking up Robin’s driveway, taking in the lights and noise spilling from the windows and backyard and wondering whether Mel had been right about him having become a recluse after he’d moved to Dortmund. He’d called Robin a couple of days ago, his initial awkwardness melting away when his friend had sounded thrilled to hear from him. He’d invited Marco to a get-together at his house that weekend and Marco hadn’t thought anything of agreeing at the time. 

Now though, standing in front of the white front door and about to walk into what sounded like a party full of people he didn’t know, Marco felt hesitant all of a sudden. It had been a while since he’d done anything like this. Ever since he moved to Dortmund, his free time had been taken up by being with Mario, or meeting up with the other guys from the team. Professional football was an extremely time-consuming business and it was just easier to keep up with the friends you saw every day anyway. 

Marco was still standing there debating whether to just turn around and head back home when the door got pulled open, a handsome guy about half a head shorter than Marco blinking at him in surprise. “You’re not the beer guy,” he said, gaze flicking up and down and making Marco wonder whether his casual shirt and jeans combo had been a mistake. The guy himself was wearing a button down and skinny jeans, brown hair carefully styled and swept away from his forehead. 

“Er, no,” Marco said. “I’m, uh, a friend of Robin? Marco.” 

“Robin, Marco’s here!” the guy yelled into the hallway, not taking his eyes off Marco as he did so. “Well, come on in. There’s no beer, but we have other stuff as well. Robin’s in the backyard, trying to light us all on fire.” 

Marco made his way through the living room to the backyard, earning a couple of stares and waves as people recognized him. He was relieved once he spotted Robin standing in front of a huge barbecue grill, frowning at a sheet of paper in his hands. “I don’t get it,” he said to the girl standing next to him, who was rolling her eyes. “I did it just like they drew it, why won’t it- Hey!” 

People looked up a Robin’s exclamation and Marco felt their eyes on him as he stepped forward to hug his friend, Robin almost lifting him off the ground in his enthusiasm. “You really made it! People were starting to think I was making you up.” 

“It’s been a while,” Marco agreed, smiling when Robin clasped his shoulder in excitement. “Not long enough for you to grow out of your two left hands though I see.” 

The girl next to Robin burst out laughing. “He _does_ know you!”

“Well, duh, we go way back. Marco’s the reason I almost got suspended for a week in tenth grade.” 

“I told you to fill the trashcan with water and put it onto the door, not to set it on fire,” Marco said mildly, the memory bringing a grin to his face almost unbidden. 

Robin sniffed. “I’m an artist, I made a creative decision. This is Tanja by the way.” 

The girl – Tanja – gave him a wave then pointed at the table full of sausages and steaks. “Maybe you can get this thing going? Otherwise we’re going to have to eat all of this crap raw. Which, being a vegetarian, would give me the opportunity to laugh at you endlessly.” 

“You do that anyway,” Robin remarked drily and she blew him a kiss before turning away to redirect a newly-arrived couple carrying salad bowls. “Seriously though, bro, do you know how to light this? I’m about to lose serious credibility as a tough guy here.” 

“Wow, we really haven’t seen each other in a while, if you think I’m going to believe you ever had tough guy cred,” Marco deadpanned, pushing Robin out of the way and starting to rearrange the coals. He couldn’t cook much more than the essentials, but his dad had taught him how to light a grill before he’d turned twelve. 

Five minutes later the coals were already turning white at their edges and a short scatter of applause broke out as Robin proclaimed that they could throw the meat on in a while. One of the people applauding was the guy who had greeted Marco at the door and he stepped over as everyone else turned back to their conversation, giving Marco the once-over again. 

“Hot, famous and he’s good with his hands, too. Why is it that I’m only meeting him now?” he said to Robin, who mimed throwing the tongs he was holding at his head. 

“That’s exactly why. Stop hitting on all of my friends and start getting us more beer.” 

“ _I’m_ your friend,” the guy said, sounding offended. 

“Unfortunately,” Robin agreed, but there was a fond grin on his face when he turned towards Marco. “Marco, this is Marcel. He’s the reason we have no beer.” 

“I object to that,” Marcel said haughtily. “I was in charge of alcohol and meat supply. _Beer_ is not alcohol, it’s an essential food group. ” 

“It is for some,” Robin said drily. “Though I gotta tell you that most people don’t start their days by vomiting into their friend’s vegetable patch.” 

“I was fertilizing it,” Marcel said, entirely unconcerned. “And you plied me with vodka shots all night after crying on my shoulder for more than an hour, because you were afraid of turning twenty-five.”

“That couldn’t have been pretty,” Marco said without thinking and Marcel turned to give him a significant look. “Have you ever had to babysit him after he’s been at the Jack? A bag of cats would make less noise.” 

Marco frowned as he tried to remember something. “No, but I _did_ have to hold his hair back after he overdid it on the punch at a school dance once. Mind you, he’d spiked it himself, but he was so pissed at that point he didn’t even remember. Those were the ponytail days, so you can imagine the mess. I think you had to comb the dried vomit out the next day, didn’t you?”

“I knew it was a mistake to introduce you two,” Robin grumbled as Marcel burst into laughter. “I distinctly remember having to spike that punch, because _someone_ was too chicken-shit to ask Miriam Weiler to dance without some liquid courage.” 

“Ah, so the two hours we spent in that bathroom were for my benefit? And to think I almost considered dunking your head into the bowl.” 

“Oh, I _like_ you,” Marcel snickered, clapping his hands delightedly before pointing at Marco. “We are going to be great friends, I can tell already. Come give me a hand with the beer and please, do _not_ hold back on the dirt you have on this guy.”

*

It turned out to be a great night. They got the meat cooking and Robin’s friends had brought tons of sides for a delicious barbecue that didn’t end until a couple of hours later, when they ran out of coal. Marco suggested making a run to the gas station, but Robin waved him off, pointing out that almost everyone was too stuffed to eat much more anyway. He had a point, as most of the guests were lazing about on the lawn chairs and blankets thrown into the grass in Robin’s backyard, only a few dancing to the music in the living room. 

Marcel was one of those, but he kept coming back to where Marco and Robin were sitting off to the side, reminiscing about their school days and catching up on the time they hadn’t seen each other. Tanja and some of Robin’s other friends stopped by, but none except Marcel stayed long and Marco found that he enjoyed that, the three of them an easy fit as they talked until the late morning hours, people trickling out at a steady rate until it was just a few drunken stragglers left. 

Sometime around four Marcel got up as well, giving one of the guys he’d danced with earlier an impatient wave. “That’s my orgasm for the night,” he said while he stretched. “It was great meeting you, Marco. Don’t be a stranger!” 

Even though Marco had gotten somewhat used to his blunt manner in the last few hours, he still choked on the beer he was nursing. Robin just laughed, tossing the cap of his own bottle after Marcel as he gave them a wave and hurried off, elbowing Marco as soon as his friend was out of earshot. 

“Hey,” he said, sounding unusually serious as Marco glanced over at him. “You don’t have a problem with…”

Marco stared at him for a couple of beats, keeping in the urge to laugh hysterically at the question. “No,” he finally managed. “I’m fine.” 

“Good,” Robin said, sounding relieved. “I mean, I didn’t think you did, but he’s my best friend, you know? And I’d like us to hang out again.” 

“Yeah,” Marco said, smiling a little as he leaned back to watch the stars above them. “I’d like that, too.” 

*

Marco made good on that statement in the following weeks, his friendship with Robin rekindling as he found himself hanging out with his old schoolmate and Marcel more and more. The days were of course reserved for training and Marco took care to visit his parents on the weekends, but by the beginning of August, most of his weeknights had him going out with Robin and Marcel, hanging back as the two of them tried to get laid with the male and female population of the bars they frequented respectively. Sometimes Auba joined, but since he had a kid back home it was mostly just the three of them and whatever date Marcel or Robin had managed to drag along to their outing. 

For the most part Marco kept to himself, watching with increasing amusement as Marcel or Robin tried to hit on people with varying success rates as the nights progressed. He got hit on more than a dozen times almost every night they went out, but he always politely declined, which was a source of never-ending fascination for Marcel. 

“Do you have some sort of celibacy bet going on with yourself?” he inquired curiously once, after Marco had gently turned away the advances of a not entirely sober girl, sending her back towards her group of friends. 

“Nothing like that,” Marco said curtly, taking a sip of his coke (he had training tomorrow) and letting his gaze drift across the room in order not to have to look at Marcel. “I’m just not in the mood.” 

“Bro, you’re twenty-four. We’ve been hanging out for a month now. You’re _never_ in the mood.” 

“I think that guy you hit on earlier is waving at you,” Robin interjected, catching Marco’s grateful gaze as Marcel scampered off. 

“Thanks,” Marco muttered softly and Robin just nodded; the look in his eyes a bit more knowing than Marco was comfortable with.

*

They started the new season off with a bang a week later, triumphing over Augsburg on the other team’s home-turf and scoring four times. Auba netted three of the goals and Marco was as swept up as the rest of the team by their new striker’s performance, assisting the second goal and jumping into Auba’s arms afterwards in celebration. It was a perfect sunny afternoon and the fans, which had come all the way from Dortmund to cheer them on, were fantastic, their choreo before the match a promise of revenge for the lost titles last season.

It could have been the perfect match, if not for that moment sometime in the second half, Marco receiving the ball from Ilkay and sprinting towards the penalty box, instinctively passing it into the opening space he saw in Augsburg’s defense. He was halfway on his way to the goal when he realized that he was still waiting for the returning pass and when he turned he saw the ball off to the side, one of Augsburg’s players already picking it up from where Marco’s pass had made it drift into nowhere. 

Auba and Micky slapped his back in passing as they all retreated across the pitch again, clearly not realizing what mistake he’d just made, but Marco caught Mats staring at him and quickly looked away, not wanting to see the pity in his friend’s face. He’d been avoiding Mats lately and his friend had respected the invisible boundary Marco had drawn, probably suspecting that Marco needed some space to recover from that humiliating experience in the woods. 

They had a little party in the training center once they got back to Dortmund the next night, watching the opening weekend’s roundup of the matches in the media room. Marco’s stomach clenched once the Bayern match was up, but as the commentator mentioned in passing, Mario was still injured and wouldn’t be available to play for another two weeks. They showed him briefly, sitting in the stands next to the Spanish transfer from Barca, laughing and talking intently as his new team swept Gladbach off the pitch easily, betraying any speculation that their thirst for titles might have been quenched by their incredible last season. 

Marco drove too fast on the way home, opening all the windows and letting the summer air whip through the car, drowning out any possible thought as late-night Dortmund slipped by around him. 

*

The next time Marell and Robin dragged him out, Marco took some time to go over his appearance, changing outfits a couple of times before settling on skinny jeans and a black shirt. His hair underwent the usual styling routine, but Marco took a few more minutes to shave, which he usually didn’t do in the evenings, putting on some aftershave once he was done. Marcel whistled when Marco got out of the car and Robin raised his eyebrows, asking him a silent question that Marco avoided by hustling them into the club. 

The night progressed as usual, with Marcel slipping off early and returning after taking a survey of the room. “Nice crowd tonight,” he observed, taking his seat again and nudging Robin. “There’s a bachelorette party over there and the maid-of-honor is pretty much a ten for ten, as far as your preference goes.” 

“Blonde and stacked?” Marco guessed and Robin grinned. “Why do you think I’m friends with you?” 

“His money,” Marcel replied promptly, raising his bottle of beer at them in salute when they gave him the same exasperated look. “Wow, you two should take that on the road.”

“Excuse me?” They turned to see a red-haired girl in a low-cut top, who was smiling at Marco. “Would you like to dance?” 

“Sorry,” Marco said, giving her his best apologetic grin. “I’m just here for a night out with my friends.” 

She nodded and gave a little wave. “Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be here for a bit.” 

They watched her go and Marcel gave a low whistle, turning back towards Marco with a smirk on his face. “You know what, when I saw you all dressed-up earlier, I actually thought you were looking to get laid tonight.” 

“Who says I’m not?” Marco replied calmly, raising his bottle to take a sip of beer and observing their reactions. 

Robin’s eyebrows shot up and Marcel crowed in victory, slapping the table with both hands and drawing stares from the people around him. “Alright! Al-fucking-right, I can work with this! Do you want me to introduce you to the bachelorette party? Robin has dibs on the maid-of-honor, of course.” 

“No,” Marco said, gathering his courage for what he was about to do. “But you _can_ introduce me to the guy you were talking to earlier. If you haven’t already banged him in one of the bathrooms that is.” 

He’d thought the two of them to be surprised before, but it had been nothing compared to this. Robin’s mouth was actually hanging open and Marcel was staring at him with an expression on his face that was close to astonishment. Marco kept drinking from his bottle, faking a calm he wasn’t feeling and waiting for them to come to terms with what he’d just revealed. 

Marcel was the first to recover. “Really,” he said, mustering Marco as if he was seeing him for the very first time. “You never cease to amaze me, Reus.” 

“You can say that again,” Robin muttered and when Marco glanced over, his friend had an expression on his face that Marco couldn’t read exactly. 

There wasn’t any time to dwell on it as Marcel dragged him off, declaring that they should move on to another place, mostly for reasons of unobtrusiveness. When Marco looked at him inquiringly, Marcel leaned close so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I’m guessing you want to keep this on the down low? This isn’t really the right place for that.” 

Marco actually hadn’t thought that far ahead and he felt a bit sheepish as they got their stuff and headed to another club, Robin begging off once they got out to the parking lot. “Not really my scene I’m guessing,” he said with a slight smile that made Marco wonder just why Robin was reacting so weirdly to this when he’d never shown any sign that Marcel’s sexuality bothered him. 

Marcel didn’t seem to notice, his own excitement notable as he took Marco to another club that unlike the ones they usually frequented was crammed with guys, mostly their age. Marco was a bit overwhelmed at first, sticking closely to Marcel as they made their way to the bar and ordered some drinks. It would have to be the last of the night, otherwise Marco’s lightweight metabolism would have him slurring instead of doing any of the things he’d planned to do. 

They grabbed a small table off to the side and Marcel scanned the crowd, pointing out guys for Marco’s perusal, clearly trying to gauge his taste. Most of them looked a little intimidating to Marco, their tight shirts showing off bodies that had clearly seen the inside of a gym more often than not. He wasn’t exactly untrained himself, but somehow the broad build of these guys put him off rather than evoke any sort of reaction in him. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, no gym rats,” Marcel mused as he kept letting his eyes wander across the room. “Hm, what about that guy?” 

Marco followed the motion of his head and discovered a guy leaning against the bar, about his age. His hair was dark - though that could have been the low lighting - and he was smaller than Marco, most of the guys standing around towering over him. There was something soft-looking about him and when he caught Marco’s gaze, his smile was incredibly bright. 

“Not that one,” Marco said flatly, his stomach tightening painfully as he quickly looked away. 

“O-kay, weirdo,” Marcel drawled. “And I thought I was picky.” 

Marco kept his head down as he took another sip of his drink and once he looked up again, the guy from the bar was gone. Getting fed up with Marco rejecting the guys he’d pointed out to him, Marcel went off to dance after a while, leaving him at the table with the rest of their drinks. Marco was about to admit to himself that this whole thing had been a mistake and go to tell Marcel that he was heading home, when a lean guy with dark, closely-cropped hair slipped into the seat across from him. 

“Hey,” the stranger said. “You looked a little lost.” 

“My friend abandoned me,” Marco said and the stranger smiled, which let the angles of his face appear less harshly handsome. 

“He sounds like a fool.” 

It was an obvious come-on and Marco tried not to let it show how much that unsettled him; gave him pause as he considered that this was probably the first time a guy had hit on him with the expectation of something to happen. He smiled, more as a way to win time than real amusement. 

“You’re not wrong.” 

“I’m Cem.” If the guy had noticed Marco’s nervousness, he wasn’t showing it. 

Somehow that reassured Marco, made smiling back this time easier. “Marco.” 

“Would you like to dance?” 

Marco swallowed as he contemplated getting out into the crowd and dancing with a guy for the first time. Sure, it was pretty dark in here, but he still didn’t think he was up for that. “Actually,” he began and had to clear his throat when the words caught there. “I was thinking we could maybe get out of here?” 

Cem’s eyebrows rose in surprise, obviously not expecting Marco’s forwardness. Then he smiled and gave a slight nod, eyes heavy with promise as he watched him across the table. “Lead the way.” 

*

Cem’s flat was only a ten-minute walk away and turned out to be a stylishly decorated affair with two glass doors leading out onto a high balcony overlooking the city. Marco was glad for the fresh air as he stood at the railing, dazed by how quickly things had been progressing. He’d texted Marcel and told him where he was going and now he quickly slipped his phone into his pocket when Cem appeared at the door, having shed his jacket and shoes.

“Bedroom?” he asked and Marco nodded, following him back inside and into the room Cem had disappeared into earlier. 

The bedroom was as nice as the rest of the apartment, the bed huge and stacked with pillows that Cem swept aside before he moved to pull off his shirt, revealing a nicely toned chest. Marco swallowed as he followed suit, shedding his own clothes in silence, his boxers dragging against his half-hard dick when he took them off. 

Cem smiled as he stepped over to him, raising a hand to let his hand trail across Marco’s chest and stomach. They were about the same height and Marco couldn’t help but look into his eyes as he drew him in, hands heavy and warm on Marco’s hips. “You have a nice body.” 

Marco had no idea what to say to that, so he just kissed him, trying to lose himself in the feeling of another body against his own. He didn’t entirely succeed, but Cem didn’t seem to notice anything as the two of them moved to lie on the bed, Marco finding himself on his back with Cem perched above him. After another slow kiss Cem pulled back, looking down at Marco and stroking the side of his face. “I don’t bottom,” he said. “I’m sorry, I just don’t. Is that okay?” 

Marco stared at him as the implications trickled through him, a shiver running down his back that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Yeah,” he managed, cheeks turning warm. “But, er. I mean, I haven’t exactly done it that way before.” 

Cem paused as he considered that and Marco swore that there was almost a touch of embarrassment to the expression on his face. “But you’re…prepared, aren’t you?” 

Marco frowned, the emphasis Cem had put on the word ‘prepared’ too heavy to just be coincidence. “Like, with lube? No, but I could-“ 

“Ah, no,” Cem said with an embarrassed little laugh. “That’s not what I meant. You’re…clean?” 

Marco jerked at that. God, maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. “I’m not going to do anything without a condom,” he said flatly, starting to get up and only stopping when Cem put a gentle hand against his chest, shaking his head. 

“Me neither. I wasn’t talking about- ah, fuck. Okay. When you said you hadn’t done this before-“ 

“I meant that no one has fucked me,” Marco said, now losing his patience. “What’s the problem?” 

“Let me take a wild guess here. You haven’t been with a lot of guys, yeah? Maybe just one? And he had a lot more experience than you?” 

Marco stared at him, honestly bewildered now. “How did you-“ 

“Experience,” Cem said good-naturedly. “Okay, look. With anal, the human body being what it is, things can get a bit…let’s just say messy, if you don’t take precautions. One of them being that the guy bottoming usually has to, well, keep clean down there.” 

Marco flushed as he finally caught on to what Cem was talking about. And then felt like a complete idiot. It hadn’t once occurred to him what anal sex might entail, if the person getting fucked didn’t take the precautions Cem had mentioned. For someone who had had as much of it as he had, that seemed like a rather large oversight. Only, was it really? Mario hadn’t ever mentioned anything that would have made Marco realize that his best friend’s part in their sexual relationship came with a serious maintenance routine. And even though Marco felt stupid for not having thought of it himself, the realization that this had been just one more thing Mario had never bothered to talk to him about, was even worse.

Cem’s eyes were sympathetic when Marco finally managed to meet them again and his hands were gentle as he ran them down to stroke Marco’s flagging erection, moving in to kiss the side of his neck. “We can do other stuff,” he murmured into Marco’s ear as he slowly brought him to full hardness. “Put a pin in the anal for now.” 

Marco laughed in spite of himself, a short surprised bark that sounded too loud in the hushed airs of the room. Cem hummed approvingly and slid down his body, mouth trailing a path as he went lower and lower. Moving his hands to rest on Cem’s head, Marco was thrown again by the disjointed sense of deja-vu, fingers finding no purchase in the shortly-cropped hair where they expected to find soft strands to grasp. Marco raised his eyes to the ceiling, trying to let go of the unbidden memories as he concentrated on the feeling of Cem’s mouth on him, the sharp spike of pleasure finally taking him out of his head. 

*

August slipped into September almost seamlessly, the days still heavy with late-summer warmth as the season slowly kicked into gear. They lost their first Champion’s League match against Neapel, but did well in the League, triumphing over Braunschweig, Frankfurt and Werder. Marco’s first goal of the season was a penalty and after the ball hit the net, the memory of his first goal from last year rose unbidden in his mind, the simple joy after receiving that perfect pass for the first time bittersweet and sharp in his mind. Then the others piled on top of Marco, shouting their excitement and he brushed the memory away like unwanted cobwebs. 

Marcel and he continued their forays into Dortmund’s gay club scene, mostly spending one or two hours with Robin before moving on for the night. Marco still got the feeling that Robin somehow had a problem with the whole thing, but his mind was on different things as he kept on pursuing what Marcel had come to dub his ‘experimenting phase’. After Cem he hadn’t gone home with anyone else, but the bathrooms of the clubs allowed ample opportunities for any sort of sexual encounters. 

The first time Marco was down on his knees on the surprisingly fancy marble tile floor, he was reminded of Robert’s birthday and how this whole thing had started in the first place. He pushed it away resolutely, trying to focus on the guy in front of him. Marco hadn’t bothered to learn his name. It was surprisingly easy to pick up guys once he got over his initial hesitation and Marco took full advantage of his newfound courage, sometimes going as far as trading hand- or blowjobs with two different guys on the same night. 

He didn’t fuck any of the guys at the club, but Cem had gotten him curious and after pep-talking himself into at least slipping one soapy finger into himself in the shower, Marco kept a look out for his very first one-night stand. He wasn’t particularly hung up on Cem, but he’d liked him and the easily pragmatic way the other man had approached the whole idea of sex. It took him three different nights of hanging around the first club Marcel had taken him to until he finally discovered Cem, who looked surprised but pleased to see Marco again. 

Two hours later Marco found himself on his back as Cem slowly pushed into him, sweating as he tried to relax like Cem told him to. It wasn’t that it hurt exactly, the preparation had been way too thorough for that, but as Marco bit down on his tongue to concentrate on anything but the feeling of _fullness_ and even more disconcertingly, invasion, he wildly wondered how this could actually be enjoyable for anyone. He got his answer a good five minutes later when Cem found his prostate, but as wonderful a discovery as that was, Marco wasn’t entirely sold on the idea. 

Cem laughed when he voiced his thoughts afterwards and Marco liked him even better for not taking offense to what was essentially an unflattering review of the sex they’d just had. They exchanged numbers and even though Cem made it quite clear that he wasn’t looking for anything but the occasional one-night-stand (as if Marco was), they parted on friendly terms. Marco headed home and took an extensive shower before awkwardly limping to his couch and settling down for some late-night TV. Sitting proved to be a challenge and in the end Marco dragged some cushions to the ground and lay down on his stomach, grimacing as the occasional muscle spasm ran down his lower back. His phone chirped after a while and Marco’s eyebrows rose as he read Cem’s message, a helpless quirk of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

_Try soaking in the bathtub tomorrow. Does wonders, believe me ;)_

*

They celebrated a fantastic victory over Hamburg the next week, winning with 6:2 and delivering their best performance of the season so far. Lewy and Auba each scored twice and Micky and Marco completed the scorer sheet, their attacks and counter-attacks flowing ceaselessly, the team’s performance almost effortless. Afterwards Marco headed straight to Robin’s place and they celebrated in style with pizza and a Tarantino night. 

By the time Marcel called it a night and headed home, Marco was almost boneless with satisfaction, stuffed and seriously considering simply crashing on Robin’s couch for the night. A look at his friend, who had been oddly quiet the whole night gave him pause though, an uneasy feeling sliding into his belly like a shard of ice as Robin sat up to look at him, glancing around as if to make sure that Marcel had really left. 

“I need to talk to you.” 

Marco wondered if there was any other combination of words that invoked the same sort of dread as these, but if there were, he couldn’t recall them now. Setting down his soda on the floor in front of him, he slowly straightened up and focused on Robin. “Go ahead,” he said, not managing to keep the weary note from him voice. 

Robin sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Look, bro, not that it’s really any of my business, but…what the hell are you doing?” 

Marco pretended his stomach didn’t turn over at that, kept his face blank. “What do you mean?” 

“You know exactly what I mean,” Robin said quietly. “Your ‘experimentation’?” 

The air quotes were heavily implied and Marco bristled. “Why do I get the feeling you have a problem with me not being straight?” 

Robin stared at him, speechless for a couple of moments and then he started to laugh. There was nothing joyful about it though. “Oh, God. Is that what you thought? That I was having my homophobic freak-out, because you like to make out with dudes? Give me some credit, man.” 

Marco shrugged, pissed off and embarrassed at the same time. The truth was that he hadn’t been able to place Robin’s reaction, since by all accounts it didn’t make any sense. His friend had never shown any aversion to Marcel’s sexuality after all. “You seemed weirded out when I first brought it up. And you never come out with us.”

“Yeah, clearly my unwillingness to be hit on by guys while you and Marcel get your gay on means I’m not okay with you doing it,” Robin said drily. “Jesus, Marco. I don’t give a fuck who you sleep with. Go fuck the entire male population of Dortmund for all I care. It certainly seems like you’re trying.” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Marco snapped. 

“Nothing,” Robin said, shrugging. “Personally, I find it a little odd that my serial monogamist friend is suddenly trying to evolve into some kind of clubbing Casanova, but hey. That’s your choice. We all deal with our shit in different ways.”

Marco frowned, feeling like he was missing half of the conversation. “People change. Just because I had longer relationships in the past doesn’t mean I can’t experiment now.” 

“You’re bi, Marco,” Robin said and his voice sounded flat, bordering on harsh. “Don’t try and tell me you haven’t figured that out by now. You’re not experimenting, you’re running.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Marco groaned, hating the way his heart was beating too fast, like it was trying to escape his chest. “And what exactly am I running from? Dazzle me with your kitchen psychology, Rob, please.” 

“Probably the fact that you still haven’t figured out how to get over Mario,” Robin said calmly, his face almost expressionless as he watched Marco. 

Marco felt like he’d been pushed into cold water, all if his breath going out of him, leaving him struggling to talk, or even think. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.“ 

“It wasn’t that hard to put together,” Robin said quietly and now there was something dangerously close to pity on his face. “You used to never shut up about him; it was fucking annoying to be honest. And you practically went AWOL after moving back here. Add that to him leaving and you practically being a poster child for post-breakup symptoms…well. Didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“You’re wrong,” Marco said with numb lips, struggling to pull his thoughts together enough to string a coherent sentence together. He felt the defensiveness rising like bile in his throat, threatening to choke him. “This isn’t about- You’re wrong!” 

“Maybe,” Robin said, sounding oddly sad. “Or maybe not. This isn’t even what I wanted to talk to you about. I meant it earlier, I don’t care who you sleep with. If this is your way of coping, I say go for it. But stop involving Marcel in whatever is going on with you.” 

Marco was getting whiplash from the twists and turns in this conversation. “Marcel? What the fuck does he have to do with this?” 

“He likes you,” Robin said softly and Marco stared at him, bewildered. 

“I like him, too, what does-“ 

“Oh come on, Marco, you are not this oblivious,” Robin snapped. “He _likes_ you. He’s had a crush on your ever since you two met, are you honestly telling me you haven’t noticed that?” 

“I-“ Marco started, then stopped to consider the question. Sure, Marcel flirted with him, but he basically flirted with anything that moved, including Robin. Marco hadn’t ever put much thought into it.

“Oh, Jesus,” Robin muttered. “You actually didn’t know.” 

Marco shook his head and Robin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I feel like an asshole telling you this. I don’t like this whole secretive crap, talking about Marcel behind his back, but…he’s been hurt before, alright? And I just don’t want him getting caught in the crossfire of whatever it is you’re doing.” 

“It has nothing to do with him!” Marco exclaimed, still not seeing where Robin was going with this. “There’s nothing going on between us!”

“Maybe not for you,” Robin said. “But you’ve heard this story before. Straight boy experiments, gay boy helps him find his true self, not-so-straight-boy realizes gay boy has been his true love all along and they live happily ever after.”

“That’s-“ 

“Stupid as hell? Yeah,” Robin sighed. “But I think he’s hoping that somewhere along the way, the two of you could be more than friends.” 

Marco was still struggling to wrap his mind around this whole conversation. “I’m not sure why you’re even telling me this.” 

“Because you’re my friend,” Robin said calmly. “The three of us hanging out has been awesome and I want that to keep happening. But Marcel is my _best_ friend and I love him. So if you lead him on and end up hurting him-“ He stopped and shrugged. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive you for that.” 

Marco stayed silent, mulling the words over in his head and giving Robin the opportunity to continue. His friend appeared to have said everything he wanted to say though, leaning forward to take a pull from what by now had to be very stale beer. Part of him wanted to laugh in Robin’s face, both for presuming that he knew anything about Marco’s motivations in the first place (because he was _wrong_ , so fucking wrong) and for meddling in both of their affairs so fucking blatantly. But he also knew their friendship wouldn’t be the same, if he didn’t take him seriously now.

He took a deep breath. “I won’t lead him on,” he promised. “I never meant to give him any ideas about us and besides, he’s my friend, too. I don’t want to see him hurt either.” 

Robin regarded him sharply, then relaxed when he saw the seriousness on Marco’s face. “Okay,” he said, laughing a little to himself. “Okay, good. You want another beer?” 

Marco, thrown by the sudden change in topic, blinked. “I haven’t even finished the first one.” 

“Lightweight,” Robin accused him fondly, any tone of accusation or seriousness gone from his voice now. “Are you sleeping here tonight, or what? If you are, you’re making me breakfast tomorrow as payment for my hospitality.” 

“I think the term hospitality implies there won’t be any payment,” Marco remarked, trying to match Robin’s light tone in spite of his racing thoughts. “But my pancakes are awesome, so get ready to have your mind blown.” 

*

Marco kept his promise in the following weeks, avoiding asking Marcel to join him when he went out with the explicit goal of getting laid. If his friend was hurt by that he wasn’t showing it when the three of them were hanging out together. In fact, he’d even started to tone down his usual flirtatious behavior and Marco wondered just how much Robin had to do with that. The thought of Robin talking to Marcel about this whole thing pissed him off, especially since Marcel was still in the dark about Marco knowing. He’d never appreciated being micromanaged, especially when he hadn’t asked for it.

His irritation at Robin for getting so involved in his personal life wasn’t exactly alleviated by the fact that he felt somewhat awkward around Marcel now, the little things he’d never noticed before in their interactions suddenly loaded with meaning and making him paranoid about accidentally encouraging his friend’s crush. If he was honest, Marco was glad that the further progressing season meant more matches and less downtime, the occasions for being able to hang out with anyone but his teammates growing less frequent as the English weeks were upon them. 

Their string of victories in the Bundesliga came to an abrupt end one week after the Hamburg game, with a draw against Nürnberg. Of course they’d known this was about to happen sooner or later and they recovered beautifully in their match against Freiburg, lighting Signal-Iduna on fire with a five-nil performance. Marco scored the first two goals and assisted Lewy on the third; leaving the pitch as the match winner and with Auba’s arm around his shoulders. 

They played their second Champion’s League match three days later and won easily against Marseilles, Marco once again getting his goal after beautifully converting a free kick. He thought he was finally starting to hit his stride, which made the flu he caught after their defeat against Gladbach a few days later even more annoying. Marco hated underperforming, but not being able to perform at all was worse by far. He’d miss the two upcoming World Cup qualification matches because of his sickness and Marco resolutely ignored the prick of relief he felt once his stay in Dortmund was confirmed, sending André a long, whiny message about hating his immune system instead. 

He was pretty much fully recovered by the time the Nation Team players returned to join them in their preparation for the matches against Hannover and Schalke. Marco was walking to his car after a particularly strenuous day of endurance exercises (which hadn’t been made easier by Auba easily besting him in speed and cackling at Marco’s attempts to keep up with him) when Mats caught up to him in the parking lot, taking his arm and tugging Marco towards his own car.

“Can we talk?” Mats voice was quiet, like he was afraid someone might overhear them and Marco’s stomach sank as he followed him to his car. 

He settled into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the fact that the last time he’d been in here had been after that disastrous run in June. When he turned his head to meet Mats’ gaze, his friend looked like he’d had the same thought, his eyes dark and unhappy as he regarded Marco. The feeling of dread in Marco’s stomach solidified like ice and he opened his mouth to make some sort of light remark, anything to break the tension between them, but Mats spoke first. 

“Have you talked to Mario recently?” 

Marco had suspected something like this and that was the only reason he was able to keep his voice calm when he answered. “No, I haven’t. Why?” He added after a pause, not because he really wanted to know, but because Mats would expect him to ask. 

If anything, Mats looked even unhappier; his mouth twisting like he’d tasted something bitter. His voice was soft when he finally answered. “He told me something. While we were on National break, I mean.” 

Marco raised his eyebrows, waiting silently and hoping his racing pulse wasn’t as loud as it seemed to his own ears. He couldn’t speak, though he wanted to scream at Mats to go on. 

“He asked me not to tell anyone, but I just felt…like maybe you should know,” Mats said hesitantly and Marco could read an entire book in the worried lines of his face. 

“Just tell me,” he said numbly, honestly surprised that the words even made it past his throat. 

Mats’ eyes held nothing but pity in them as he looked at Marco. “He’s seeing someone,” he said softly. “Some guy he knew back in Memmingen when they were kids.” 

*

Marco was drunk. He had only a vague idea how he’d come to be this drunk and could only guess where he was exactly, though it looked to be a club of some sort. Judging from the guy feeling him up through his shirt, it was a gay club, or at least one that catered to both crowds. At least no one else on the dance floor was giving them strange looks. And Marco _had_ seen two girls kissing, although he wasn’t sure how long ago that had been, since he’d lost his sense of time somewhere around his third drink. 

There was something hidden at the bottom of the haze the alcohol had buried him under, something gnawing at him with sharp teeth even as he closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, feeling nothing but the press of other people around him, the music thumping loudly. When someone grabbed his arm, Marco’s first impulse was to pull away, to simply keep dancing and letting himself drift through the crowd. The hand was insistent though and when he reluctantly opened his eyes, he found a white-faced Marcel in front of him, keeping the grip on Marco’s arm like it was a lifeline. 

“Come on.” 

The music was too loud for him to hear anything, but Marco could read the words easily from Marcel’s lips, even in the state he was in. He briefly thought about resisting, but gave it up almost immediately, letting himself be pulled towards the exit. What would have been the point? Marcel’s car was parked right on the curb and Marco wanted to tell him he was cruising for a ticket, but thought better of it when the nausea hit him, the fresh night air somehow lifting the haze on his mind and allowing him to feel just how much he’d had to drink exactly. 

He attempted to breathe evenly, barely noticing that Marcel was bundling him into the car and getting behind the wheel, the engine starting with a dull roar. The city slipping by around them didn’t help with the nausea, so Marco closed his eyes, only opening them again when Marcel pulled up in front of his building, using the parking spot Marco’s Aston usually occupied. The thought of his car gave him a jolt that cleared the fog his brain was swimming in somewhat. He’d have to go by the parking garage near the club tomorrow to pick it up. 

Marco made it into his flat and onto the sofa by himself, Marcel hovering but letting him take the stairs at his own pace. Now he was puttering around Marco’s kitchen, slamming the cupboard doors and running the tap while Marco stared at his blank TV, trying to remember just where he’d put the damn remote. He could do with some noise. Marcel hadn’t said a single word so far. The silence made the gnawing in his stomach stronger, a hollowness he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in months spreading unhindered. 

“Here. Drink this.” 

Marco stared at the cup of coffee for a moment before taking it, obediently taking a sip as Marcel dropped down next to him. It was probably the strongest coffee he’d ever drunk in his life and its bitterness nearly made him recoil, but a look at Marcel’s face told him it wouldn’t be wise to ask for sugar or milk just then. 

“What the hell was that?” The anger in Marcel’s voice was unmistakable, but there was worry there, too, and Marco felt like shit for putting his friend through this. 

“I don’t know,” he croaked and that at least was nothing but the truth. 

“You don’t know? Jesus, Marco, you were getting wasted back there. What if someone had slipped something into your drink?” 

“I didn’t drink that much,” Marco muttered, which probably wasn’t even a lie. His head was clearing rapidly as he kept sipping from the coffee and Marco suspected that some part of the dazedness back at the club had been brought on by the stuffed air and constant movement in the crowd. 

“Why did you drink at all? Don’t you have training tomorrow?”

Marco shook his head, unwilling to think about that just then. “I just needed to get out.” 

“Then why didn’t you call Robin or me?” Marcel sighed, taking the empty cup from him and putting it on the small table next to the armrest. “We could have taken you out. Made sure you didn’t end up face first in your own vomit.”

“I don’t want to see Robin,” Marco muttered, scrubbing a hand across the stubble on his jaw. 

“And me?” Marcel’s eyes were very dark and Marco blinked as he realized how close they were sitting. 

“I always want to see you,” he said truthfully, the thought of how he’d missed Marcel’s sharp wit and easygoing manner in the last few weeks strong in his mind. 

There was a moment of perfect clarity, when Marco knew what was about to happen as the expression on Marcel’s face shifted and he leaned in to kiss him. The opportunity to put a stop to it slipped by and Marco let it, deliberately not moving away as Marcel’s lips touched his own. After all why not? At least Marcel _wanted_ him. Robin and his fucking threats could go to hell for all Marco cared. 

The kiss tasted bitter, the lingering traces of coffee on Marco’s tongue persistent even as Marcel licked into his mouth, grasping the back of his neck to get a better angle. Marco let him, tugging on the front of Marcel’s shirt in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what it was. Breaking the kiss to look at him, Marcel took him in rapidly, seeming hesitant as he bit his kiss-flushed lips. 

“Are you sure you’re up for-“ 

Marco got up before he could finish the sentence, pulling off his own shirt as he made his way towards the bedroom, determinedly keeping his gait steady as to not give Marcel any excuse to back out of this. He wanted this. He _did_. And he was damned if he wasn’t going to get it. 

He was naked by the time Marcel had followed him and Marco saw him swallow as he caught sight of him near the bed, stepping closer slowly to touch Marco’s chest. The grin Marco gave him felt hard on his face and he thought he saw a touch of apprehension in Marcel’s expression, quickly pulled him in for a kiss before it could bloom into something more sinister. They pulled off the rest of Marcel’s clothes together, Marco pushing him onto the bed once they were both naked, climbing on top of him. 

“Can I fuck you?” 

Marcel looked taken aback but nodded, licking his lips as Marco fumbled in the nightstand for lube and condoms. He sucked in a breath once Marco actually went about preparing him, but made little noise otherwise, even when Marco pulled on the condom and settled between his legs. Marco pushed inside slowly, closing his eyes at the familiar, tight sensation, tuning out everything else. 

It was so good. He lost himself to the motion, the feel of another body beneath his, soft hair brushing the inside of his wrists where his hands were braced on the mattress. Every push of his was met and they established a rhythm almost seamlessly, each motion giving way to the next one easily. The tension built almost too quickly and Marco groaned when sweat-slick hands grabbed onto his shoulders, perfectly familiar. He opened his eyes blindly and there he was, hair dark with sweat at the temples, looking back at Marco almost dazedly. The next thrust made the arousal in his belly spike almost unbearably and Marco gasped, the name falling from his tongue almost as of its own accord. 

“ _Sunny._ ”

Everything seemed to freeze. Beneath him Mario smiled. Only it wasn’t Mario’s smile but Marcel’s as the image in front of Marco’s eyes wavered, gave way to reality. Marcel looked confused, but smiled as he slid his hands to the back of Marco’s neck. “Sunny, huh? Bit cheesy, but I can dig it.” 

He tried to pull Marco down for a kiss and looked surprised when Marco jerked back. “Something wrong?” 

Oh God. Oh _God_. What had he _done_? Marco was starting to tremble and Marcel’s eyes widened in alarm beneath him, his mouth opening and forming words. Marco couldn’t hear him over the rush in his ears as he scrambled back with limbs that felt wrong for his body, his erection flagging and slipping from Marcel, the condom dangling almost comically from the tip before falling off. 

He made it into the bathroom just in time and then it was like his whole stomach was trying to turn itself inside out, his hands scrabbling uselessly against the seat of the toilet as he struggled for breath in between the dry heaves. His eyes felt wet, and Marco dazedly noted that he was crying, tears dripping from his chin and onto the toilet seat where they looked like tiny drops of dew sitting on a leaf in the early morning. The analogy was so absurd that it made him laugh, but it came out as a sob instead. 

There was something warm around his shoulders and it took Marco a second to understand that Marcel had followed him into the bathroom to place a blanket around his naked form, crouching next to him to put a hand on his shoulder. The realization of what he’d done to Marcel and their friendship made him cry even harder, Robin’s words like a bell in his head as he struggled to comprehend what the hell he’d been _thinking_. 

Marcel didn’t deserve any of this, certainly not to have to console Marco after he’d so shamefully used him. Yet here he was, helping Marco to sit with his back against the bathtub, tugging the blanket tighter before putting his arms around him. And Marco just let him, continued to drink in the comfort he didn’t deserve, burying his head against Marcel’s shoulder as the sobs racked his body, tearing at his chest until he thought it would burst. 

“It’s okay,” Marcel murmured into his ear. “You’re okay. Shhhh. I’m so sorry, Marco.” 

“ _You’re_ \- _no_!” It sounded more like a dry heave than words, but Marcel appeared to have understood him. 

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have let you do this. I knew how you feel about him. I just hoped-“ He trailed off with a sigh that carried so much wistfulness in it that Marco was briefly distracted from the bitter triumph of being right about Robin having shared his suspicions on Mario with Marcel.

_Mario_. 

_He’s seeing someone. Some guy he knew back in Memmingen when they were kids._

“Why doesn’t he love me?” The words would have been utterly pathetic, even if they hadn’t been delivered by a voice raw from crying, the wet heaving of hyperventilation punctuating them in all the wrong ways.

“I don’t know,” Marcel whispered, sounded close to tears himself. “God, Marco, I wish I knew. I’m so sorry. You deserve so much better.”

“He _left_ me. He left me and he doesn’t call and now he’s just moved on and I can’t-“ 

“Shhhh, it’s okay. It’s going to be fine. _You’re_ going to be fine.”

“I don’t think so,” Marco whispered and the desperate truth in the words scared him. “I’ve been _trying_ but he’s everywhere, everything I can think about even when I’m not thinking at all and it’s too much, I just- I can’t keep doing this anymore.” 

Marcel finally pulled back, took Marco’s face in his hands to look at him. Marco faintly noted that he wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of briefs and a t-shirt. “Listen to me,” Marcel said intently. “We’re going to figure this out, alright? You, me, Robin. You’re going to be okay, Marco.” 

“I don’t think Robin’s going to speak to me after tonight,” Marco mumbled, the shame at what he’d done hitting him once more. He’d used Marcel in one of the worst ways a person could be used. 

Marcel scoffed and there was a hard edge to the expression on his face. “Robin doesn’t have to know shit. He certainly won’t hear it from me. I love him, but his puppet master complex could be made into a feature-length movie.” 

“He’s just trying to protect you,” Marco said weakly, not exactly knowing why he was defending Robin when he’d been pissed at his friend for the exact same thing. 

“I don’t need anyone’s protection,” Marcel said firmly, using the grip he had on Marco’s chin to make him face him. “And I could have said no earlier. I took advantage of you just as much, so stop looking like you ran over a puppy. I’m fine. It’s not the first time some guy I liked hasn’t felt the same way about me. I’ll get over it. Just like you’ll get over Mario, in time.”

Marco shook his head, feeling nothing but tired all of a sudden. “There has been time. Time’s been all I’ve had, it doesn’t change the way I feel about him.”

Marcel was silent for a while, his voice hesitant when he started to speak again. “Have you thought about telling him?” 

Marco felt something stirring in his chest, like he was about to burst out laughing or crying, with no idea which of the two it would turn out to be. He somehow managed to control the urge, the hysterical touch to his thoughts fading slowly. It was funny though, in an awful kind of way. Here Marco was trying to pick up the pieces of his life after Mario had disappeared from it like he’d never been there in the first place. And there Mario was, obviously thriving in the new life he’d made for himself, the one that apparently had no room for Marco in it. 

_He’s seeing someone. Some guy he knew back in Memmingen when they were kids._

“He has a boyfriend,” Marco said, looking away when he saw the pity in Marcel’s eyes. “Mats told me today.”

There was a long pause as Marcel absorbed this information. “So what?” 

Marco’s head jerked up and he stared at Marcel in disbelief. “ _What?_ ”

Marcel shrugged. “So what? He has a boyfriend, big deal. You’re not going to tell him so _he_ knows, if that would have changed anything, I’m guessing you would have tried it sooner.” 

Marco could’t help but think of the gingerbread heart in his closet, a physical reminder of the stupid desperate hope he’d still had that things would work out back then. Marcel must have seen some of it on his face, because he nodded grimly. “Exactly. Telling him wouldn’t be for his sake, it would be for yours. At least you’d get some closure.”

Marco huffed out a bitter laugh. “So I’m supposed to do what exactly? Go down to Munich, knock on his door and go: Hey Mario, I know we haven’t talked in months and judging from your complete lack of communication you have no interest whatsoever in being reminded of your old life, but by the way, I was in love with you the whole time! Good luck with your new boyfriend and see you on the National Team?” 

Marcel’s mouth twitched. “A bit short, but it’ll do.” His expression grew serious again as he looked at Marco, the faint amusement fading. “You have to tell him, Marco. If you _really_ want to get over him…you have to tell him.”

*

Marco wasn’t sure what had woken him at first. His room was dark, the little street light filtering through the curtains telling him it wasn’t even close to dawn yet. He felt exhausted, the remnants of alcohol, sex and the worst cry he’d had in a while tugging at his muscles, making his body ache and his limbs slow to respond. Marcel hadn’t wanted to leave him on his own, but Marco had insisted, his guilt at what he’d put his friend through making him stubborn and not taking no for an answer. 

Before he’d gone, Marcel had once more tried to convince Marco of his need to talk to Mario and Marco hadn’t outright told him no, though they’d both known he’d been thinking it. He’d been relieved once Marcel had left, falling into bed right afterwards and slipping into sleep easier than he’d done in ages, despite the horrible feeling of rawness in his throat and the ache in his back that spoke of sitting on the bathroom floor for too long. 

But now he was awake. The faint chirp finally made him realize why and he grabbed blindly for his phone, pulling it from the nightstand and clenching his eyes nearly shut before unlocking it. The light from the screen still blinded him, painted dark after-images onto his vision as he struggled to see what had woken him. There was a text message and Marco was about to open it when his eyes finally adjusted enough to the light for him to read the screen properly, the sender’s name swimming into focus. 

It was from Mario. 

~

**Author's Note:**

> It would mean so much to me if you left a comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed the story. I love hearing what you guys think and it's such a motivation to keep going, you have no idea <3


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